


Can You Hear It?

by CobaltBoba



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Based on a Vocaloid Song, Dream Sequence, Happy Ending, M/M, Music is (literally) magical, Pianist!Wen Junhui, Recovered Memories, Temporary Amnesia, Wonhui are whipped for each other (as always)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltBoba/pseuds/CobaltBoba
Summary: In a country that has lost sound, Jeon Wonwoo meets a stranger.(Or, the one where Wonwoo doesn't know what a piano is)





	Can You Hear It?

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all uwu i started writing this at 1 am because i couldn't get [This Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01Mwa0IKB9Y) out of my head and so i puked it onto a google doc. Hope you enjoy!!

When Wonwoo opened his eyes, it was with a start. The man stared up at the ceiling of his bland, silent room for a moment to regain his bearings and blink before he sat up, the motion creaking his bed and bouncing the sound off the walls. 

 

He stretched as he stood and ran a hand through his hair as the other reached to the side of his pillow to retrieve his glasses. Not that there was much to look at at the moment, anyway. Wonwoo's room basically held only his bed and a low bookshelf, and a venture into his living room showed that this minimal decoration was typical of Wonwoo’s residence. Wonwoo cleared his throat once as he poured himself a cup of coffee, watching as the dark liquid sloshed soundlessly into the mug. And as he moved to take a seat on his couch and drink, he reflected on what he remembered from his dream the previous night. 

 

It had looked like a theater. Wonwoo walked through the darkened aisles, slowly making his way down to sit in the front row as he eyed the posters on the wall. All of the people in the posters had been replaced with cartoon-y skeletons in the same poses. ‘ _ Okay. _ ’ He thought to himself as his mind instead turned to the fact that his velvety seat was comfortable to him, an interesting touch from his subconscious mind. Wonwoo absentmindedly tapped his fingers together as he waited for something to happen, and when the crimson curtains on stage parted, he was met with a sight he could only describe as  _ strange _ . 

 

What was on the stage, illuminated by a bright moon in a now-opened roof, was a large box-like contraption, elevated on four legs. Out of the top of the box rose multiple metal tubes that opened up at their ends; their golden luster reflected the light brilliantly. These tubes, curling and swirling every which way, continued upward for about fifty feet. And in front of the box with his back to the singular audience of Wonwoo sat a man. His fingers danced lithely over the patterned black and white buttons of the contraption, and with every press came the strangest part of the dream. 

 

Sound. 

 

A beautiful cacophony of sounds was bursting out of the contraption, from both the box and the tubes. The two made completely different sounds, yet their operator meshed the two tones into a beautiful… Wonwoo couldn't find the word for it. Once the man stopped the operation of the contraption, he turned to bow, but before Wonwoo could see his face the lights in the theater shut off with an echoing click and the roof snapped shut. It was at that point that the spectator realized with a start that the rest of his dream leading up to this moment had included sound. His steps down the carpet of the theater, the springs in his seat, even the door to the auditorium had creaked when it opened, and through it all the soft pattering of rain fell against the outside of the theater. 

 

How strange, for Wonwoo to dream about sound in a nation where sound had been eradicated. 

 

It had only been a few years ago, but these  _ beings _ had come into their nation. These beings were powerful, and they hated sound with every inch of their floating, pure white bodies. They hadn't needed to use their rounded limbs to subjugate the nation--their arrival had brought order none had ever thought possible. Its only price was sound. 

 

Everything that produced sound was destroyed, and everything produced thereafter was perfectly quiet. Somehow, actions that should have made sound, even pouring and punching, made no sound. Wonwoo’s bed was a defect, a commodity so broken that he would have to pay a fortune to convince anybody to even come near it, much less trade it. Luckily for him, miniscule sounds were allowed in private residences. 

 

Noise in public areas, on the other hand, were punishable by imprisonment and death. 

 

It had only been a few years ago, but Wonwoo’s nation had been warped to forget most things related to the dreadful taboo. Communication could be done through glances, and now if someone were to bring the concept of “song,” Wonwoo would only have a passing memory of the meaning of the word. He remembered it having great meaning to him for most of his life, but now it was irrelevant to the point of nonexistence. 

 

And after the beings had begun their rule, the world seemed more bland to Wonwoo. There was something indescribable about what he missed. It was as if a part of him had left with sound, and it left the rest of him in constant dissatisfaction with how the world now was. Less bright, less enjoyable, more lonely. And simply more bland.

 

He had long since stopped trying to understand and remember. The mere effort was futile. He had a job and friends and a roof above his head and easy places to get food and other necessities. He didn't need sound, and he didn't need the world to return to the way it once was. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Or so he thought. In the fourth year after sound’s destruction in his nation, Wonwoo encountered a stranger in the streets. 

 

This stranger looked lost, he looked as if he was looking for something he had misplaced long ago. And somehow, he looked familiar. That head of brown hair and those bright brown eyes, wide and shining beautifully against his cream sweater. Wonwoo was going to approach and offer a helpful gaze, but the moment he met the stranger’s eyes, the latter's lit up. He rushed forward, his steps threatening to sound out against pavement as he reached forward and grasped Wonwoo’s hand. 

 

The bespeckled man wanted to inquire exactly what was going on, but before his brow could furrow, he was interrupted by more earnest than he had ever seen in the stranger’s eyes. 

 

“ _ Come with me, _ ” they pleaded. And Wonwoo of course, didn't want to. This was just a stranger, albeit a familiar one, and one didn't simply follow random people to wherever they asked. He was about to reject him when the stranger mouthed a single word, dropping Wonwoo's jaw and threatening to make his knees buckle. 

 

In their society, mouths and lips had little more to do than eating, drinking, smiling, and frowning. One’s eyes could communicate far more than the feeble vibrations people used to wring from their throats. Yet Wonwoo would recognize those shapes anywhere, even after four years of not having to see it. If this stranger had wanted to gain his intrigue, he had succeeded. For he had mouthed “ _ Wonwoo.” _

 

Now, Wonwoo only kept his name because he had grown fond of it. In conversation, names didn’t have much merit since now; most nouns were understood and assumed instead of blatant. As much as things could be communicated with one’s eyes, names were essentially abstract sound, so now the only times Wonwoo heard his name was when he murmured to himself in the privacy of his home. Of course the people he was close to were also attached to their names had written them out in introduction, but official documents and correspondences used images instead, along with a subscript number to denote which person out of a group of twins or triplets or quadruplets. 

 

He was sure that he had never shown this stranger his name. And his friends had no reason to spread it, either, meaning this man knew something that he didn't. 

 

Wonwoo stood in his surprise as the stranger continued to stare into his eyes with such an earnest look. Only a few more moments and his resolve caved. “ _ I don't know who you are, or why you know _ that _ , but I'll go with you.” _

 

The stranger broke out into a beaming smile that made Wonwoo unknowingly tighten his hold on his hand. “ _ Thank you!” _ those crinkled eyes soared, “ _ I'll make this worth your time!” _

 

And with that, with Wonwoo’s hand still grasped in his, the stranger took off running. He wasn't sure how long they ran for, but by the time the stranger slowed down, they had already reached the outskirts of the silent nation. Here the wind was just a little more unkempt, and if one really listened they could hear soft, hidden rustles of the grass that grew in the field. For the sake of Wonwoo’s legs and lungs they had slowed to a walk, the stranger now guiding Wonwoo by the hand almost carefully. 

 

Wonwoo wanted to ask where they were going, but the stranger’s face set in determined concentration was too cute to interrupt. Wait, cute? They really had only just met. Right?

 

Soon a little cottage came into view, and the stranger quickened their pace to reach it. Wonwoo was pulled inside and shut the wooden door behind them with a barely audible click, which made him do a double take. Before he could try to get the stranger’s attention however, they were already in the next room. 

 

Perhaps the laws against sound were more lenient here, for this cottage was so fully furnished that there was no way everything was silent. Fine china he saw in the cabinet had a penchant for clacking, a fireplace with fire typically crackled, and the old-fashioned wooden floors had barely been muted--it was their footsteps that kept their traversing silent. 

 

Maybe it was the presence of these objects that made this cottage feel so warm. 

 

The pair made their way into a storage room, and there the stranger opened a small trapdoor on the ground and looked at Wonwoo expectantly. Well, he had already followed a stranger into their residence. The basement was only another step of their almost completed dance, he thought. If he didn't get murdered, Wonwoo would work on his impulse control once he got home. 

 

The glasses-wearing man hopped down the trapdoor to be met with stairs. Many, many stairs leading downward in a thankfully well-lit spiral. The stranger dropped down the hatch to join Wonwoo in a few moments, closing the door behind him and offering Wonwoo a bright smile as he began to descend. Wonwoo could really only shrug and follow. 

 

They descended steps for what was probably about three minutes, but to the Wonwoo who was tired from running the way here, it felt like at least fifteen. And at the bottom of the stairwell, Wonwoo was met with the sight he had least expected to see. 

 

The box from his dream, complete with the black and white buttons all lined up in a single row and the tubes protruding like horns from its top, reflecting gold and rising up fifty feet, totally filling the large cavernous room they had entered. Wonwoo had not expected to see this contraption in real life in the least, and he hoped the shock on his face communicated this to his companion. 

 

“ _ How is this possible?”  _ Sharp eyes were wide in stupor,  _ “I saw this exact thing in my dream, and it was-” _

 

“So it reached you?” Wonwoo’s mind blanked, his questions evaporating into nothingness as he heard a voice for what felt like the first time in forever. This stranger had  _ spoken _ to him. And not only that, his voice was breathtaking. Gentle, soft, bursting with excitement, and not only the first but the most beautiful sound he thought he had heard in a while. 

 

Wonwoo took a shaky breath as he tried to find it in him to respond. His neglected vocal chords seemed to prefer to stay at rest, and to be honest, he was still afraid. Yes they were inside, but speaking out loud was still practically forbidden everywhere. 

 

“It's okay,” the stranger's voice came again, still just as gentle and now comforting as well, “we're this far underground. Our voices are as negligible as a butterfly’s wingbeats.”

 

“ _ Poetic,” _ Wonwoo quipped, but he swallowed and cleared his throat once more. “I… how did you know my name?” his voice was weak and hoarse, and it honestly sounded like gravel to him, but the stranger’s eyes only seemed to brighten further. Wonwoo saw recognition and joy in those brown orbs, and he wondered how his small coarse voice could ever bring such an reaction from anybody. 

 

The stranger looked thoughtful as he tried to come up with an answer Wonwoo would accept. “I was hoping you would remember, but it's okay.” He gave another warm smile to the confused man massaging his throat and turned to approach his contraption. 

 

“You said that you saw this in a dream, right?” He turned his head to look back at Wonwoo, who nodded, “Then that’s wonderful!” Another beaming smile threatened to send Wonwoo to the floor. All of this stranger seemed so familiar, but Wonwoo had no recollection of him. “I was hoping that it would be enough to remind you, but since it wasn’t, I wanted to play for you in person instead.”

 

Wonwoo slowly followed after the stranger, coming to a stop about five feet behind the bench that he seated himself on. “Play?” He croaked out, grimacing, “So it was this box that made all those sounds?”

 

The stranger whirled around at that, an almost indignant expression on his face. “Box?!” He made wide gestures toward it, “you've really forgotten what a ‘piano’ is?”

 

“...Piano?” It sounded familiar, but Wonwoo had no image to associate with the word. So he just shrugged at the stranger. 

 

“Okay,” the latter huffed, “I feel better about myself, then.” He turned back to face the ‘piano’ and cracked his knuckles, “granted, this is a little different than most pianos you'd see around. Those things?” He pointed at the metal tubes, “are modifications I made to give a more complete feeling to my songs.”

 

“Songs?” Wonwoo quirked his head to the side. 

 

When the stranger turned back around this time, he simply looked exasperated. “This is a lot worse than I thought. No wonder it took so many tries to reach you.” He lowered his head into his hands for a few moments, and silence completely unlike what Wonwoo was used to filled the room. 

 

“That being said,” the stranger began quietly, his head still in his hands, “this is my last chance.” He lifted his head, but the smile he aimed at the ground now seemed sorrowful. “I've tried so many times, and this thing is so loud,  _ they’ve  _ caught on to me. If I play it again,  _ they'd  _ definitely come and destroy it and probably me.”

 

His smile was raised toward Wonwoo, who for some reason felt an overwhelming urge to run up to and comfort him. “So please,” the stranger swallowed, “for both of us, please remember.”

 

Wonwoo knew that this request wasn't aimed exactly at him, since what could he do about his memories? But perhaps whatever power this ‘piano’ held really could help. 

 

“You see,” the stranger began as he pressed some of the white buttons on the ‘piano,’ and in that instance a wave of something indescribable washed over Wonwoo. He staggered backward at the sensation, but as the stranger continued, he couldn't take his eyes off of him. “ _ They _ don't just hate sound,  _ they’re  _ afraid of it.” More buttons were pressed as the stranger raised his left hand to join his right, “and particularly words and music. Written word can certainly be powerful, but spoken word is much more potent. Written word can be uplifting, but spoken word is downright inspiring. And then there’s sound in the form of music. It has the power to inspire and heal, and also to hurt and destroy.” The stranger sped up, his hands dancing along the keyboard and joining some black keys with the white. 

 

Keys?

 

“People rally to the beat of drums when they go to war. People dance and celebrate to music at any occasion. To ensure that  _ they  _ wouldn’t be threatened, that people could not unite under a single beat,  _ they  _ destroyed everything that would produce sound, and  _ they  _ evidently,” the performer turned to give Wonwoo a pointed look, “destroyed the memory of music.” The sound flowing out of the piano and bursting from the horns echoed around the cavern and vibrated through Wonwoo. With a start he realized he could name the notes, and name the notes together as a melody. 

 

And then he began to sing. The pianist’s voice, melding in perfectly with his playing rocked Wonwoo to the core and brought him to his knees. He had thought the man’s voice was beautiful before, but this--this was nothing short of angelic. The tone, airy yet so full at the same time, pierced through both the music and Wonwoo, leaving him helpless. He was utterly transfixed, mesmerized by the sheer beauty meeting his ears, and if he could spend the rest of his life listening to him, he would. 

 

The pianist finished his performance with a flourish of his arms, and he turned to smile at Wonwoo, the hope glittering in his eyes that this could have possibly worked, but in an instant his smile dropped into a concerned face as he rushed over to Wonwoo. 

 

“W-Wonwoo?” He was sounding a little panicked, “Is everything okay? Why are you crying?” Crying? Wonwoo moved his hand up to brush at his cheeks, and he pulled it away to find that was indeed wet. He had been so captivated by Junhui that he hadn’t even noticed.

Wait.

 

Junhui. Junhui. Junhui. Jun. Junnie, Jun-

 

All of a sudden, tears began pouring for his eyes as wave after wave of realization crashed into him. 

 

This-- stranger was the absolute wrong word. Junhui was anything but a stranger to Wonwoo. He suddenly recalled so much that his head hurt - memories of laughing beside this man, conversing with and holding him, staying up late together, doing everything together. From festivals to traveling, they hadn’t been strangers. They had been lovers. 

 

“Junnie,” Wonwoo managed to choke out through his tears, and now it was Junhui’s turn to be astonished into silence. And in the next instant Wonwoo found himself on the ground, having been tackled by the Junhui who now held him in his arms, peppering kisses to his face and laughing in a sound whose beauty rivaled that of his singing. “How could I ever have forgotten,” Wonwoo reached up to cup Junhui’s cheeks, “Junnie, I’m so sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay,” Junhui leaned his forehead against Wonwoo’s tears now also rolling down his cheeks, “ _ they _ took everything. But you still listened to me when I played for you.” 

 

Wonwoo pressed kisses onto Junhui’s cheeks, erasing the tear tracks and eliciting another bubbly giggle out of him. “Of course. How could I ignore one of my favorite sounds in the world?” The youngers sighed rolled onto his side so the two now faced each other, “how did you escape? You’re so deeply connected to music that they definitely would’ve killed you.” A kiss fell gently onto Junhui’s forehead, “and I’m so, so glad they didn’t.”

 

Junhui hummed thoughtfully. Four years seemed like such a long time ago, and Wonwoo’s memories were still fuzzy. “I was out of town when those sound-hating things came. And when I tried to come back, they said I was too loud and that I wouldn’t be allowed in.” Junhui’s cheeks puffed out into a pout, “they said that, and all I wanted to do was stomp around their streets and give them the loudest day of their lives. But I couldn’t do that and see you again, so I started in the outskirts and build up this nice ‘box’ you see here.” He giggled, and Wonwoo bumped his head against Junhui’s in retaliation. 

 

“Hey, it’s not my fault they erased everything sound-related, but I--” 

 

Before Wonwoo could finish, a rumble shook the cavern and Junhui sat up with a jolt. “Speak of the devil,” he grumbled as he took Wonwoo’s hand and quickly pulled him up into a crevice well hidden in the cracks of the piano room. “ _ Okay,” _ with the present danger it was better to let the eyes do the talking,  _ “ _ they  _ hate sound, right? So if we don’t make any, they won’t take note of us. Heartbeats are things negligible to them.”  _ The hard part was controlling the sniffling and the giggling from being wedged into the crack like so, but they managed.

 

A series of crashes from the same room as them sounded, and when Wonwoo looked over at Junhui in concern, the latter just shrugged with another pout. “They’re _ breaking it. It’s what made those ever-so-hated sounds, after all.” _ Wonwoo simply nodded and absentmindedly carded his fingers through Junhui’s brown locks as they waited for the crashing to subside. 

 

A few minutes after the final sound of breaking piano, Junhui deemed it safe to exit the crevice. As he looked upon his years of handiwork smashed to splinters and warped metal, he allowed for a single sigh before turning and beaming at Wonwoo again. “I couldn’t care less about what they did to that thing. I have you back now, and you’re all I need.” 

 

Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile back, his nose scrunching in joy as he pulled Junhui in for a soft, long-awaited kiss. The older melted into the kiss as they pulled their arms around each other, each able to feel the smile on the other’s lips. And when they broke apart, those smiles remained. 

 

“Junnie, no word or song could ever describe how happy I am to have you back. And I assume we’re going far, far away from this horrible place that tried to keep us apart?” 

 

Junhui nodded in return, and hand in hand, the two began the ascent up the stairs and toward a new life with each other, what now that they quite literally only had each other and a few of Junhui’s belongings from the cottage that survived the raid. 

 

Wonwoo noted that, as he left the ‘basement’ and laid his eyes on the rolling fields and distant horizon, the world seemed brighter than it had been not too long ago. He understood what he had been missing, what made the world so bleak. It hadn’t been the absence of sound that took vibrancy away from his life, it was the absence of Wen Junhui. The Wen Junhui Wonwoo now had his fingers intertwined with as they walked together toward the horizon, backs to the silent prison that had allowed for this separation. Jeon Wonwoo was finally whole again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some clarification  
> \- The inconsistency in Junhui's speech italicizing "them" when referring to those lil bastards stems from the distaste in his voice. While telling his story he was bitter at their fear, but when Wonwoo remembered suddenly how he felt about "them" mattered a whole lot less  
> \- Music does have actual tangible power, kinda like how bards do, hence Junnie's ability to reach into ww's dream
> 
> I have. More vocaloid ideas queued up n my head so this. will probably be the start of a series when i get around to those. 
> 
> tell me abt your thoughts in the comments!! even a "cool" is uber validating and i will remember your name and pass it down for posterity's sake 
> 
> twitter: @cobaltboba


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